


wrapped my curls all around the world

by kimaracretak



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cannibalism, Cunnilingus, Dark!Galadriel, F/F, Horror, Magic, Obsessive Loyalty, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-15 03:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13604364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: (A funny trick, a head shake / I wanna peek, I wanna sip): Magic spills from Melian's lips and hands and though she does not bid it rest under Galadriel's skin it finds a home there anyway.Or; Three questions Melian asks, and three answers she did not quite wantOr; Eat your gods: the fic





	wrapped my curls all around the world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [octopus_fool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/gifts).



> title from grimes ft janelle monae, 'venus fly', summary quote from fever ray, 'wanna sip'
> 
> i love dark!galadriel and when i saw her mentioned in your letter, along with things like magic and horror/creepiness and loyalty and a more mistrustful/guilty take on this ship i ... got Ideas(tm).

Galadriel is aged, and Doriath is old, and in each other something is recognised.

Melian sees it too. Walks with Galadriel through the forests never quite touching, never quite teaching. From her, Galadriel learns more than she will ever tell.

Melian presses sweet berries to her lips as they sit at the edge of the Girdle. Holds Galadriel's hands as she weaves her spells of warding. _Have you ever seen the stars like this?_ she asks.

In the air between them Galadriel traces the constellations from Melian's eyes, takes them as her own. _Yes,_ she says, and Melian shivers though she does not know why.

Magic spills from Melian's lips and hands and though she does not bid it rest under Galadriel's skin it finds a home there anyway.

Galadriel's fingers are stained red, and they _shine_  brighter than berries, brighter than song, brighter than the bits of feather caught under her nails.

 

**

 

Galadriel is aged, and her body is pliant under Melian's hands, and on the forest floor she is too easily rearranged.

 _Come here_ , she whispers, tugs Melian up her body. It's what holding starlight must be like, burning and bending as Melian sighs sweeter than song and just as commanding.

Galadriel follows when it's easy, follows when it's sweet. Lies where she's bidden and holds Melian to her, licks her cunt sweeter than joy and lets the taste of her magic flood her mouth.

There is no space for questions here, not where they're joined. Not until Melian falls breathless to the ground, pulls Galadriel to her side and runs her fingers through her hair. _Such single-minded devotions from those lips,_ she murmurs. _And surely you must know that I would have your secrets from them, too?_

Galadriel licks the remnants of pleasure from her mouth where still it is sweet. _My secrets are of a day too cruel to remember_ , she says, and it is not a lie.

What she does not say is that her secrets, too, are of a cruel day to come, a future her goddess has not yet walked to in all her pacing round the Girdle.

Guilt twists at the bottom her stomach and it, too, is sweet.

 

**

 

Galadriel is hungry, and Melian is timeless, and death comes so rarely to Doriath.

They hunt when needed, forage to pass the days. Galadriel sinks into magic, into soil, into Melian herself who is all things in the woods.

Doriath's bounty feeds her hunger day after day, and does not sate it. That alone is for Melian: Melian who fills her with magic and light so brights it strips away all but want.

Something is skittering outside the Girdle and Galadriel remembers days and endless days of walking in the white, and thinks too that she would quite like to join them in the black, turn it round and make it hers.

Melian had _settled_  when Dorian became hers, and movement has not left Galadriel's blood.

 _Galadriel_ , she says, something that is not quite a plea on a night that is not quite the end of all things, _Would you not have me?_

She knows all of the tender places of Melian's chosen form by now. Knows where teeth and nails fit around bones and into hollows, knows the taste of skin and blood and desire.

 _Have you whole_ , Galadriel says.

Skin peels back easy as a smile and Galadriel finds that bones, too, taste more of the sweet warmth of desire than of the bitter cold of tears.

There is no devotion more loyal than this sort of joy.


End file.
